He walked away and he wasn’t walking tall
He shrouded and hunkered;
Fixed and determined and leaving.
Under one arm was clutched a notebook
Used regularly for scribblings and incidentals,
The other held nothing:
Bare, sober, exposed.
Not waving or weighing, but tucked neatly inside
A warm and worn pocket
Reserved for the odd receipt.
But mostly for his hand, unconsciously scrunched
Into a ball that hardly swayed
As his slouch carried him away.
